


routine

by youcouldmakealife



Series: but always in tandem [28]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-17 23:32:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9351305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: “Bardi,” Matty says. “What the hell are you doing?”“I don’t fucking know,” Robbie says, completely honestly. “I know I’m being an idiot, okay? So if the whole point of this was to tell me I’m being one, don’t worry, I got it. Message received.”“I’m telling you I’mworriedabout you,” Matty says, which is somehow way worse.





	

Robbie keeps fucking Georgie.

Yes, he does know exactly how fucking stupid that is.

And it’s ‘keeps fucking Georgie’, not ‘fucks Georgie again’, because Robbie is pretty sure five times in a week counts as a trend instead of just multiple occurrences. Like, fuck, it’s practically something scheduled now: in the following week the Caps have four games and two practices, Robbie eats six breakfasts and one brunch, and he fucks Georgie five times. 

He can’t even cry drunk as an excuse, since the one game they went out to drink after one of those wins so close you practically feel in your teeth the loss you were almost handed, Georgie won’t go home with him. Robbie hinted, and Robbie fucking cajoled, and Robbie went home alone because Georgie’s a fucking cock tease who suddenly gets _less_ slutty when he drinks.

But hey, Robbie can’t really be surprised. It’s hard enough to keep a lid on his temper around Georgie sober, and every time he’s been in close proximity to Georgie when he’s been drunk has ended with Robbie yelling at him — at least lately, back when they were together it was more soppy affection and sloppy sex — so clearly Georgie’s self-preservation instinct isn’t _completely_ broken. Just mostly. Like Robbie’s is. Because fuck this is stupid, and this might destroy him, and he knows it. 

And he keeps fucking doing it. 

*

Tuesday they have a game against the Rangers which they lose, a rare day off tomorrow because they’re flying out for a short roadie Thursday, and an ugly black X in Robbie’s head when he thinks of the date. This is his anniversary all over again, except worse. Worse because the bitterness of looking back at the best day of your life is a different kind of bitterness than looking back at the worst one, worse because he can’t just crawl into bed with Matty because he’s feeling sad and alone, worse because he can’t avoid Georgie. He can’t avoid Georgie in the room, and he can’t avoid Georgie on the ice, and he can’t avoid Georgie after. Or he could, he guesses, except something in him that hates happiness or self-respect or whateverthefuck invites him back to his place instead.

He doesn’t know if Georgie remembers what today is. He’s sure as shit not going to ask.

He fucks Georgie that night, hands and knees because he can’t look at Georgie’s face with the bitter taste in his mouth from the defeat — they both went minus two, their pairing was the ugliest fucking thing on the ice tonight and maybe it was because Robbie couldn’t fucking _look_ at him but everyone just acted like it was a bad night — the bitter taste that makes it so hard not to say anything, ‘you remember what day it is?’ for starters, but he knows if he asks that, whether Georgie says yes or Georgie says no, once that bile comes out it isn’t going to disappear until he’s torn Georgie apart or he runs out of anger, whichever comes first. And he’s not sure he _can_ run out of anger at this point.

So Robbie doesn’t say much of anything. He hasn’t since the game was through, the two of them on the ice, defeated, when time expired, didn’t say much in the room and didn’t say much when Georgie knocked on his door ten minutes after he got home, and now he bites his tongue and doesn’t say anything with Georgie under him, around him, the only sound the punched out noises Georgie’s making and the ragged hitch of Robbie’s breathing.

“I’ve got shit to do tomorrow,” Robbie says after, before Georgie can make himself comfortable enough to get sleepy. “Feel free to fuck off.”

Georgie looks over at him, looks like he’s going to say something. Robbie hopes he doesn’t. Robbie’s hanging on by thread here, so close to snapping he’s scared, and not even for himself. Of himself, maybe. Robbie doesn’t know if Georgie sees that in his face or it’s self-preservation belatedly kicking in again, but Georgie doesn’t say anything, just gets dressed and leaves without saying goodbye. 

*

Robbie doesn’t do shit the next day except loaf around feeling sorry for himself. It’s not a very good day.

*

Thursday they head back onto the road for a three-gamer. Robbie’s kind of nervous about it, because him and Matty didn’t hang out once the entire time they were on the homestand. Like, Matty was fine in the locker room, pretty normal. He didn’t duck out of the pre-game soccer they did to loosen up before practically every game, didn’t avoid him or anything, and anyone who didn’t know them well would think they were cool, but in the three years they’ve basically lived in each other’s pockets, Robbie can think of only one time they didn’t chill outside of team time for over a week, and that’s when Matty was having his whole freak out about Robbie being gay.

“Fucking ask him to do something,” Wheels says when Robbie brings it up. “You know he gets over things quick. And don’t bring me into it, seriously, I hate that.”

Wheels kind of has a point. Robbie hasn’t like — Robbie’s not avoiding Matty either, but he hasn’t made overtures or whatever because he knows the best thing to do is give Matty space. Except the longer it goes on the more space there is between them, space that hasn’t ever been there before, space that’s become _distance_ , and he hates it, but even more than that he hates the idea of asking Matty to chill and Matty saying no. He’s been waiting on the whole ‘can’t avoid me, we gotta share 300 square feet’ to maybe force the issue, hoping it won’t blow up in his face. 

He’s been kind of busy this week anyway. Fucking your teammate on the sly is exhausting. Like, the athletic sex part, a little, but more the subterfuge. Robbie knows Georgie has his phone number since he called him that one time right after he was traded, but Georgie’s the kind of dude who won’t use it if you don’t give him permission, maybe even deleted it, and Robbie is stubbornly resisting giving him his number officially because it feels like it’d be giving him permission for, like, Robbie doesn’t know what, being friends again? Because that sure as fuck isn’t happening. Permission to go back to the way things were in some sense, and nope. Not a fucking chance. So instead of ‘can I come over after practice?’ texts or ‘come over at 7’ or whatever, they mostly end up exchanging a series of eyebrow raises and murmurs when they won’t be overheard. They never leave together, but Georgie keeps coming back to his place, has spent more time at Robbie’s now than maybe anyone but Matty, and Robbie’s — 

Robbie’s not gonna think about that. Whatever, the sex is fantastic. Who knew pure hatred was an effective aphrodisiac?

Robbie sits with Chaps on the flight out, zoning out in front of Breaking Bad. He doesn’t realize he’s fidgeting until the third time Chaps pauses it to glare at him. He raises his hands apologetically then twists them together in his lap, hoping that’s enough to keep them still. Chaps doesn’t glare at him again, so maybe.

After check-in they all have time to do their thing since they’re not playing until tomorrow. Robbie procrastinates a little in the lobby, answering an email from his sister that was mostly comprised of pictures of Gabbi, not that he’s complaining at all. He sets an especially ridiculous one of her sticking her tongue out as the background of his phone, thanks Isabella for the pictures, and drags himself upstairs.

He’s not sure if he was expecting Matty to be hiding in Craney’s room or Wheels’ or whatever to avoid Robbie. He must have, because he’s kind of surprised when he opens the door to find Matty sitting on the far bed, which is usually Robbie’s, hands in his lap. If shit was normal Robbie would be defending his bed rights, but. They’re not, really, so. 

“Hey,” Robbie says. 

“Hey,” Matty says.

“I’m going to—” Robbie says, though he has no idea how he’s finishing that sentence. He drops his shit and picks up the remote, starts flipping through channels for something to do. 

“Can we talk?” Matty asks after Robbie’s started a second cycle.

“I think that’s what we’re doing right now,” Robbie says, not looking away from the TV. Huh. Cake Wars.

“Robbie,” Matty says.

“Elliott,” Robbie says.

“Can we talk?” Matty repeats.

“Okay,” Robbie says. He shuts the TV off, even sits down at the edge of his bed, facing Matty, to show how willing he is.

“You and Georgie,” Matty says, and Robbie suddenly very much regrets agreeing.

Matty doesn’t use the word intervention, but Robbie recognizes an intervention when he sees one — mano-a-mano fortunately, instead of a shooting gallery of concerned faces. Less fortunately, because he sat down, Robbie doesn’t have the time to get the fuck out of dodge. At least he doesn’t have the time before Matty gives him this big-eyed concerned look, and he can’t just walk out on that, especially not with the way things have been with Matty lately. Fuck, this might be the only proper conversation they’ve had in weeks.

“This is stupid,” Matty says. “You know that, right?”

So much for proper conversation.

“What’s stupid?” Robbie asks.

Matty stares him down.

“I mean, yeah,” Robbie says. “We’ve got our issues, but —”

“You’re hooking up with him,” Matty says. “What the fuck, Robbie.”

Robbie considers denying it, but the way Matty said it was less suspicion and more stating a fact, so denying it would just piss him off. He didn’t tell anyone, and he knows Georgie wouldn’t, so he guesses they fucking suck at subterfuge. That or Matty saw Georgie’s car in Robbie’s drive literally almost any night last week and rightly figured they weren’t suddenly pals.

“Okay, yes,” Robbie says. “I know, hooking up with a teammate is stupid.”

“Hooking up with an _ex_ ,” Matty says, and Robbie can’t hide a flinch. It’s not that he thought Matty wouldn’t put the pieces together, he knows Robbie crazy well and Crane’s right, he’s not stupid, but on the other hand, well. Robbie kind of hoped he would be stupid about this. 

“I mean, we were ex-teammates, but we’re just teammates again,” Robbie deflects. "It's confusing, I know."

“ _Bardi_ ,” Matty says. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I don’t fucking know,” Robbie says, completely honestly. “I know I’m being an idiot, okay? So if the whole point of this was to tell me I’m being one, don’t worry, I got it. Message received.”

“I’m telling you I’m _worried_ about you,” Matty says, which is somehow way worse.

“Well, don’t,” Robbie says. “It’s. I hate his guts or whatever, but at least I’m getting laid regularly. And have you _seen_ him?” There is no point where Robbie hated him so much he stopped being attracted to him, unfortunately. “He’s like the dictionary definition of out of my league. Sucks about his personality.”

“Robbie,” Matty says, gets this kind look on his face, like he thinks Robbie needs some sort of pump up speech for his poor sad self-esteem when it’s more than Robbie has eyes. He’s not being insecure, he’s being objective.

“If you tell me Georgie is not out of my league I am going to laugh in your lying liar face,” Robbie says. “FYI.”

Matty sighs. “How long were you together?” Matty asks instead.

“Who said anything about that,” Robbie says.

“Robbie,” Matty says.

“A little over thirteen months,” Robbie says, then, “or like a year or whatever, I don’t know,” when Matty gives him this terrible look.

“That’s a long time,” Matty says.

“Not really,” Robbie says. “I mean, in the grand scheme of things it’s really—”

“Robbie,” Matty says. 

“I hate the way you keep saying my name,” Robbie says. 

“What happened?” Matty asks.

“We were together, then we weren’t,” Robbie says. “Tale as old as time. Even you’ve experienced it once or twice.” Then, “Sorry. That was dickish.” 

“What’d he do?” Matty asks.

“What do you mean?” Robbie asks.

“If you hate him, he must’ve done something bad,” Matty says. “What’d he do?”

“Matty, my precious, precious snowflake,” Robbie says.

Matty frowns at him.

“Your faith in me is touching,” Robbie says.

“Don’t be condescending,” Matty says.

“Big word from you, little guy,” Robbie says.

“I said don’t be condescending, not get even more,” Matty says.

“Sorry,” Robbie says. 

“You’ve been saying sorry a lot lately,” Matty says.

“I know, right?” Robbie says. “Gotta quit that. Between you and Chaps, that polite-ass Canadian shit is apparently getting to me.”

Matty ignores the last part, even though it’d usually make him groan. “Or maybe you should quit doing things you need to be sorry for,” he says.

“Yeah,” Robbie says. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Matty says.

“Just stop doing things to be sorry for?” Robbie asks.

“Yeah,” Matty says.

“Well,” Robbie says. “Can’t promise anything, but I’ll try.”

“Thanks,” Matty says. “You don’t want to talk about it, huh?”

“I really, really don’t,” Robbie says.

“Okay,” Matty says. “If you—”

“I know,” Robbie says. “Cake Wars is on, wanna watch?”

Matty chews on his lip. He loves Cake Wars, so he must really not want to be around Robbie if it’s taking him a minute to consider. Robbie’s surprised by how much that hurts. “Okay,” Matty says finally.

“Okay,” Robbie says, and tries to hide how relieved he is to hear it.

That day is — normal. Good. It’s not just an episode of Cake Wars, but a marathon, and even though Robbie’s seen a few of them, and Matty’s probably seen all of them, they keep it on in the background while Robbie fucks around on his phone and Matty does whatever on his laptop. They don’t say much, but it’s nice. It’s normal, like Robbie said. He didn’t realize how long it’d been since shit’s felt normal until it feels like that again.

Cake Wars turns into dinner turns into rewatching Batman Begins because it happens to be on. They’re still quiet, still not saying much of anything, but before bed Robbie hip checks Matty for dibs on the sink, and Matty just brushes his teeth behind him, triumphantly grinning all foamy mouthed because he doesn’t even have to stretch to see himself over Robbie’s head. Fucking giant.

Robbie wonders if he was supposed to go over to Georgie’s single room, let Georgie fuck into him with a hand over his mouth like when they used to fuck on the road, Robbie biting his hand or wrist when he came in retaliation, even though he knew if Georgie didn’t do it the guys next door would hear him. The walls here are a fuckton thicker than the places they stayed, but still. Team etiquette or whatever. He wonders if Georgie was trying to catch his eye on the way in, or stared at his phone and debated texting Robbie without permission, maybe even knocking on Robbie’s door. 

Whatever, fuck him, Robbie had better shit to do. 

Except Georgie looks at him the next morning over breakfast, unspoken question in his eyes, and Robbie knows that night he’ll be knocking on Georgie’s door.

“Room number?” Robbie asks, during pregame.

“506,” Georgie says.

“Next to mine,” Robbie says, stomach twisting a little at that for some reason he can’t identify. Maybe because it’s too close to home. Like. Literally.

Georgie glances up, eyes flicking around in a way Robbie knows is checking if anyone’s too close, anyone’s bothering to listen, which means he’s about to say something a little less deniable than innocently sharing room numbers.

“Try to keep it down for Matty, then?” Georgie asks.

“Don’t fucking talk about him,” Robbie spits, suddenly furious without knowing why.

“Okay,” Georgie says, holding his hands up, his eyebrows going up as well. “Okay. He know?”

“What did I just say, Georgie?” Robbie asks.

“Just making sure I don’t get my throat slit in my sleep,” Georgie says.

“If anyone’s going to do it it’s me,” Robbie mutters, and Georgie huffs out a laugh. 

“Well,” Georgie says. “As long as it’s you,” and Robbie doesn’t know what that means.


End file.
